End With You
by sinners'-delight
Summary: Your eyes are no longer eyes. They are marbles, black as night. They are shattered glass reflecting the light in different fragments. I see me, I see you. I see black and white. I see red. You don’t see anything anymore.
1. Chapter 1

Word of Caution: This story contains suicide, graphic descriptions of death, delinquency of a minor, language not suitable for young children, severe and vividly depictedangst, and an implied incestuous relationship. If you take offense to any number of these things, please do not proceed with reading this story. You have been given fair warning, any flames on the matter will be grotesquely disregarded.

* * *

End With You

I.

Your eyes are no longer eyes. They are marbles, black as night. They are shattered glass reflecting the light in different fragments. I see me, I see you. I see black and white. I see red. You don't see anything anymore.

The porcelain is stained. It's the only thought I really think. The others are all false thoughts. No matter how they scrub somehow I know it will never come clean. The paint is blackened, cherry red and royal purple. It spills down the sides, puddles on the ground. Water trickling to the floral tile below. I could bathe on the floor. You're drowning. Up to your chin drowning. For a moment, I want to save you. I want to pull you out, feel your naked body. I want to press my nose, my face, my lips to your bare flesh. I want to give you my breath and my life.

Are you cold, I want to ask.

I'm cold. My skin ripples, but I don't move. I'm too afraid. I don't want to disturb you, wake you from your dreams. You always told me that you wanted to dream.

For this moment, you are mine. You are entirely mine. If I speak, if I make a sound, I'll lose that moment. And then you'll be everyone else's. I can't bear that thought. I don't want to share you. So I stay silent and unmoving.

The soles of my bare feet are soaked. The water is ice freezing your veins. I watch the way your body lies, study the contours of your every muscle. I shift, there's a squish beneath my feet. I can almost hear my breathing.

_I hate you_, you would always say, _I hate the way you make me feel so lost._

But now I'm the one that's lost. And you're the one that's made me feel that way. And I understand, why you hated me. Because I hate you now.

I can't feel you anymore. The hairs on my arms don't stand on end. I'm staring at you, but you're not there. I can tell. My body can tell. You're gone. You've been gone a long time.

The water floats your warmth to me. It brushes against my feet. It's fading. I can feel it fading, bright red wisps lingering against my skin.

I want to talk to you. Ask you why. You wouldn't answer. It doesn't matter. I know the answer anyways. It's useless to ask what I already know. It's a waste of time. That sort of thing always annoyed you. I had always annoyed you.

There are sounds, outside the door. Mom is yelling. She wants to know why the carpet is wet. I can't answer her. My voice is gone. You took it with your last breath.

I can see it, like a great gash, a gorge. The bronzed meat is splintered, purple and pink and white. What was once smooth and whole and perfect is now jagged and raw and flawed. The deep cut runs parallel to the thin blue road beneath your olive skin, and I follow that path with my eyes trailing up to your face. Your head rests against your shoulder, looking out at me. But you don't see me. The glimmering metal shines in my eye where it has come to lay beneath the water on the floral tile. It's been washed clean of its sins. I wonder if you have as well.

Your life is a thousand tiny diamonds on the bathroom floor.

The door opens behind me. The moment is gone. Mom is there, her words are echoes in the back of my brain. Otto is behind her. I can't hear mom screaming. I can't see Otto's eyes boring into you, can't hear him calling to me. You're no longer mine. It hurts so much. They're taking you away from me. Slowly and painfully ripping you from my possession. Now I know how you felt all those times when they took me away from you.

Just a little longer, I want to say to them. Let him be mine just a little longer. Leave us alone, leave me this moment. Leave him with me for a just a moment more.

I understand, I want to tell you, I understand now.

But I don't.

I really don't.


	2. Chapter 2

II.

I would beg you to let me come every Saturday night and you would all but laugh in my face. Mom would ask why you won't take me with you and you would tell her that I'd probably fall in the ocean and drown and that you would let me, then smile at me with all your teeth. I never knew if you were joking, so I would smile back with my lips pressed closed. When you'd leave, I'd lie in the den waiting for you to return. You'd pretend to be surprised, every time you came in and found me asleep on the old couch, then yell at me to go to bed. I never knew if you were really mad, so I would slam my door shut behind me. We had our way of being that no one understood. Our own little jokes that only outsiders could laugh at because they didn't know how cruel they were meant to be.

I wasn't as coy as you, all Cheshire cat with your toothy grin. So I couldn't hide my excitement when you let me go with you that night.

_Get in my truck_, you called to me from where I sat across the street with Otto and I didn't ask why or where we were going. You needn't have told me, I already knew.

I sat in the passenger seat, my bare feet, still dusted with sand from running around all day, up on the dashboard. I never wore shoes anymore and you always teased me for it. You turned the music loud so that it pounded in my chest. My heart the drums racing to keep time. I laid my head back against the seat mouthing the lyrics to the song. You said nothing the entire way, watching me from the corner of your eye. I was yours for that moment.

We were alone on the beach in the crowd of local teens. I didn't recognize any of them in the pale light of nightfall. A girl with raven hair and copper skin approached you before we'd even left the truck. She touched your chin, told you she liked when you didn't shave. She introduced herself to me, gave me her name, Layla, and I made a face at her. Her eyes were thickly outlined in kohl, her lips looked dipped in gold. She laughed, tugging you into the crowd to dance. You glanced back at me, grinning toothily. I stuck my tongue out at you.

I watched you dance with Layla for a moment before stumbling to the water's edge. Foam washed over my feet, sand between my toes, chill air prickling my skin. I was the only one my age there. I stuck out, didn't belong and faded into the background all at once. To all of them, I was nobody. I was a child out past his bedtime. A tagalong that was meant to be discarded. I dug my big toe into the sand, made a hole that quickly filled with tide water.

I hated how you touched your hand to Layla's hip, leaned in to whisper something in her ear that only she could hear. I wanted to slip into the ocean. To fall back with the tide. No one would notice. I didn't exist there. I could disappear in the night. I kept my hands in my pockets, sucked on my lips. It was cold, I thought.

I knew you were there before you brushed my arm. I would joke with you sometimes that I had ESP when you'd ask how I always knew when you were near me. But it wasn't me that knew, it was my body. It was the way my arm hairs stood on end, the way the blood rushed to my head like fire.

You gave me an open beer, already drunken from. I took a sip wanting to impress you but made a bitter face. You laughed at me and I was embarrassed.

_That's not how you drink it_, you informed me, _you're doing it all wrong. You're supposed to let it slide down your throat, like this_.

You demonstrated for me, taking a long, exasperating swig and I watched with envy as the golden brown liquid easily slipped from the bottle into your mouth. The tendrils of your neck twitched with each hard swallow and I studied them, mesmerized. You let me finish the rest. By the third bottle, I'd had it figured out.

I danced with a girl, pale and blonde. She floated above the sand, flipping her hair into tiny tangles and twists over her shoulder as it cascaded wildly down her bare back. You stood at the edge of the crowd watching us. I could feel your eyes on me.

We drove home in silence. I watched out the window as the city rolled by. I couldn't focus on any one thing. From the corner of my eye, I caught your reflection in my window. I studied you. The way you casually gripped the steering wheel, slumped back with ease in the driver's seat. I waited for you to say something. I wanted to hear your voice, raspy and accented. But you never said anything. You frowned out the windshield. I wondered if you were mad at me. I disappointed you, I decided.

When we got home, you led me through the door, your arm wrapped about my waist, my arm slung over your shoulders, clutching your shirt for support. Everything was hazy, blurred. I couldn't walk straight. I stumbled up the porch. I lay my head against your shoulder, my eyes half closed, in a partial-dream state. You held me close to you. When I fell to my bed I all but dragged you with me. You muttered peevishly and I smiled up at you.

Childishly, I didn't want you to leave. You fought to get my blanket out from under my body so you could cover me up as I told you to stay. For a moment, I thought you would. But you frowned at me instead.

_What would be the point_, you'd said, annoyed, then turned and left me alone in the dark.

In the morning, you sat with me in the bathroom, your fingers gently tracing the back of my neck as I heaved. You'd wet the tips with cold water and each time you touched my skin I felt better until you drew away. I wondered if it was the chill of the dampness or just the feel of your skin against mine that momentarily alleviated my illness.

You let me lean against you when I wasn't bent over the toilet. I could feel the air entering your lungs, the blood pulsating beneath your skin. We said nothing.

Mom yelled at you later. _How could you get him drunk! What if something happened? He could have gotten hurt._

I listened upstairs. You apologized to her but it wasn't enough. I could hear her slap your face from my bedroom. I held my breath when you pounded by and released it when you slammed your door shut. I knew after that you'd hate me and never take me with you again.


	3. Chapter 3

III.

They've all given up on trying to make me smile. They don't bother asking me how I am or what I'm feeling anymore. They've learned not to expect me to say anything. They've all just gotten used to my silence. But I don't know if I ever will. Sometimes I think I'm talking, but I'm really just thinking. I try to tell Otto, to explain to him, but he doesn't understand. So I stay quiet. I've come to realize, they don't want to hear me. They don't want me normal but they don't want me broken. They don't want me at all.

I think they know sometimes, the way they look at me. I wait for them to tell me that they know. Sometimes I'm afraid Otto knows, the way he stares at me long and hard and then flinches away as though seeing something that bothered him. But then, maybe it's just me. Maybe it's the pieces of me, murky, no longer reflecting light, that he's putting together that he doesn't want to see.

Sometimes I would fool myself into thinking he could read my mind, so I'd try to send him messages. He'd shudder, bark at me not to stare at him like _that_. So I'd look away. His sister, Reggie, would scold him, dropping her voice low.

_Lay off him, Otto_, she'd say, glancing at me to see if I'd heard. I'd pretend that I hadn't, _He's been through a lot._ She'd force a smile my way and it reassures me that they don't know. If they knew, she wouldn't bother.

At lunch time, I can barely chew my sandwich. It's gritty and stale. I convince myself the meat is rotten, even though mom bought it yesterday, and gag. I throw it in the trash and sip my milk. Otto laughs at a joke he tells, and Sam beside him chuckles somewhat. Reggie looks to me in concern and I frown at her. She makes to ask if I'm okay but bites back the words. She's learned not to ask what I won't answer. She smiles at Otto's joke instead.

My hand slips. I spill my milk on the table. I watch it with interest. It's pure white. Otto's telling a story. The others are laughing. My milk trails down the slanted tabletop. I remember a beach like a photograph in my mind. Untainted, untouched. Pure white. Smooth ripples of sand. The milk trickles down the side of the table, splatters to the ground below. They're silent but I don't notice. They're eyes are on me, watching me uncertainly. I don't really care. I try to remember conversations. Anything menial, trivial, small. But it's all fading away.

Reggie takes a napkin, stands slightly, leaning in front of me and suddenly I'm mad at her. I glare as she mops up the mess I've made. How can she just do that? How can she just wipe away spilt milk like that as though it means nothing? How can she just erase it as though it never existed? I mumble an excuse, leave the table slumping my bag over my shoulder. They stare at me as I walk away. They don't say anything, don't call out. They've learned not to bother with things that don't matter to me.

Everyone looks up as I pass by. I don't care or think to notice. I think they know, the way they whisper amongst themselves. But how could they know? Can they read it on my skin? Can they hear it in my heart beat?

Sometimes I'd hide in the bathroom when I didn't want to see their faces anymore. The sickening smell of defecation suffocating me as broken shards of light reflected on the tiled walls. It was what I deserved, I would tell myself.

That day I go to the beach instead. I need to smell the ocean.

I try to understand myself but I don't make any sense. I want to talk to Otto, but I can't make the words form. I don't know what I'm trying to say to him. What's the use? There's nothing he can say to me in return. Nothing he can tell me to make the pain go away. He never understood me anyways.

Seagulls cover the sand in patches, shades of gray. I lean over the Pier, watch them as they peck uselessly at the sand for food that may or may not exist. People pass me by. They don't see me, don't care. I may as well not be there.

The ocean paints itself into the beach.

I don't belong to anyone.

I feel so alone.


	4. Chapter 4

IV.

You scrounged your closet for a shirt, the muscles of your slim bare chest tense against the chilly air of night. I leaned against the doorframe. It wasn't normal, your door being open. I wanted to take advantage of it. The room smelled like you, musky and sweet. For awhile I stood there, trying to decide how that scent made me feel. I pretended to hate it, commenting about the bad body odor. You stopped, looked up and scowled at me.

_Get out,_ you snapped.

_I am out_, I cleverly replied. You crossed the room to slam the door in my face. I flinched back. You'd clipped the tip of my nose, bashed the front of my toes. I started to yell out, caught myself. I didn't want you to know how hurt I really was. I stalked to my room, turned my stereo up loud and flopped onto my bed. I wanted everything to disappear into the notes. I waited for the pulsating beats to carry away the painful thoughts of you from my mind.

Mom came up a few minutes later. She told me to lower the volume of my music, offered up the phone. Otto had called. I turned my stereo off, took the phone, and mom left muttering under her breath. I didn't like the way she looked at me sometimes. She looked at you the same way. Otto talked, I listened. He raved about his new skateboarding tricks, complained about posers, boasted, and bravado-ed. I half-heartedly heard the things he had to say, gave him quick replies.

You ran into mom outside my door. I heard you say you were going out. She wanted to know where, but you wouldn't say. She didn't press it anymore. You always said she didn't care what you did so long as I was left safe and pure. I heard mom leave downstairs, thought you'd left as well. I replied to Otto, you opened my door and I watched you slip in, closing it behind you and leaning against it. You knew I was talking to Otto, you always knew when it was him, and made a face at the phone.

I mouthed to you to get out but you stuck your tongue out at me wandering about my room as I pretended I was trying to listen to Otto. You rifled through my CDs while eyeing me curiously. You were dressed in green pants, black steel-toed boots, and a ragged brown t-shirt. I hated the way you'd started dressing, but I could never tell you that. You never let the sand touch your bare feet anymore, never let the sun tan your chest. Your skin was paled now, not the dusty brown I'd known for so long. You paced about, reminded me of a caged tiger. You wanted me to hang up on Otto, I could tell. But I was mad at you, my toes ringing in my ears, not wanting me to forget how you'd treated me moments before.

You silently asked me what he wanted. After a moment, I shrugged. You smirked at me, pushing my hat over my eyes and sitting next to me. _You should pay attention to your friends_, you whispered, teasing me, your mouth close to my ear. Your breath tickled my skin and I lifted my shoulder up to cover the vulnerable spot, my face flushed. I gave you a dark look, I hoped it was filled with daggers that cut you deep.

_Are you listening to me_, Otto demanded in my ear. I stammered reply and you mouthed a no. I pushed you away but you barely budged, leaning back on my bed and watching me like a cat, amused.

I wanted to yell at you. I wanted to throw the phone at you, rip the grin from your face. My head was hot with frustration. I was your toy, for you to pick up and play with, to abuse, to toss away when you were bored, pick up again when you needed amusement. I gave you a look, I wanted to know what you were doing in my room.

_I have to talk to you_, you whispered.

_I'm talking to Otto_, I hissed, _Go talk to _your_ friends_. You didn't say anything else, and I didn't miss the pain that spilled over your face. It was easily replaced with disconnected anger.

_Whatever_, you muttered tersely, pretending you didn't care. But I could feel it, that poison beating in your heart.

You left me alone in my room, Otto still in my ear. I wanted to be proud. It didn't bother me. I could hear you turn the key in your truck's ignition outside from my bedroom. I said goodbye to Otto. I found my headphones, plugged them into my stereo and slipped them over my ears. The ecstatic drums pushed the thoughts of you from my mind. The thoughts that threatened to damage my sanity. I wondered what you wanted to talk to me about.

I tried to wait up for you, but drifted to sleep whispering along with the song in my head.

I woke in the middle of the night gripped with panic that you were gone, that you were never coming back, you were lost forever. But I still wasn't surprised to find you sitting beside my bed on the floor flipping through one of my magazines. I wondered how long you'd been there. I felt like I knew you were there all along. I wondered if you were watching me sleep. You were still dressed in the clothes you wore out, your boots were gone. I slipped my headphones off, settled back on my pillow, my head turned to the side to look down at you.

You closed the magazine, held it thoughtfully between your hands, then tossed it lightly to the side. You leaned back heavily, resting your head against the edge of my mattress, squeezed your eyes shut. I was afraid to talk, afraid to move. I wanted to touch you, I thought you'd be mad if I did.

We were silent. I memorized your face again, the way your chest rose and fell, the way you grimaced through closed eyes as though pained. For the first time, I wondered if you were unhappy. My hand acted alone, reached out and curled against your neck, rest on your shoulder. Your eyes flickered open. I could feel your pulse just lightly. I could hear you breathing.

_Am I sick_, you asked softly, carefully taking my hand and pressing it to your forehead.

_Yeah_, I teased you, _You're burning up_.

You shifted then, turning your face to mine, still clutching my hand with your own. I wanted to pretend I didn't see the seriousness in your eyes, but I couldn't ignore the desperation I felt in your trembling form. I said nothing for a long time, my world crumbling around me from within.

_No_, I said quietly through the dark, trying to sound firm. You looked away, and I knew you were full of doubt. I didn't know what to say, so I said nothing. You held tight to my hand and I didn't protest.

I didn't want you to let go.


	5. Chapter 5

V.

I used to be afraid that you would leave me behind. You were always running ahead of me, too fast for me to even lag along. I was always afraid I'd never catch up to you. But I could never give up, either, sprinting until I could see you in the distance and then you faded away from sight. I was always watching you fade away.

Otto lays beside me on the sand. His arm covers his face, the sun beats down on our skin. I'm sitting up, dusting the salt from my legs. It's one of those days when the horizon melds together. There's no clear separation of the sky and the ocean. It's a mess of gray and pink and orange. It's the kind of morning you used to like. A fog settles low in the far sunrise. There are a few surfers out at sea, but no waves for them to ride. They're talking amongst themselves. I wish I could hear what they are saying.

I want to disconnect myself from this scene. I want to disconnect myself from everything. I'm not a part of any of this. I'm not really here. I don't really exist. I'm with you. You're with me. I ask you why. You laugh, stick your tongue out at me. I ask you to stay with me. You say you will. I tell you that you're mine. You grin with all your teeth the way you used to before you stopped.

Otto makes a sound and I look at him. He's taken his arm away from his face. His mouth is crooked, his eyes scrunched. He doesn't like being around me anymore. He doesn't say so, but I know, I can feel it in the way he looks at me. I think it's because I remind him of you. It's the same reason I don't like being around me anymore. But it doesn't make sense to me. You were nothing to him. Why should reminiscence of you bother him? I think it's because he knows. It's the way he says my name now that gives it all away. Like uncertainty, trembling softly. Waiting for understanding but never really wanting to. Not quite connecting with me anymore. It's the way he keeps his distance, like he's afraid of what he'll see if he gets too close.

I want to talk to him. Tell him how I feel. But I never could. Not now, not before. You used to ask me why I was friends with him. I'd never answer you. Just stick my tongue out and race off with him. I'd always feel your eyes on me, watching me leave. I could always tell you were mad but I pretended you were only joking. I hated when I would see you with your friends, laughing and grinning. You'd tell me late at night that they didn't understand you, that nobody understood you.

Sometimes I'd stand outside your closed door, listening to them and you inside. I'd wait for you to notice me, to somehow sense that I was out there for you. I wanted you to think I understood you. Sometimes I convinced myself that I did. Then the door would open and you and your friends would come out. You'd call me a name, anything cruel, and your friends would laugh. I'd hide my face, mutter angrily at you. I didn't want you to see how much it really hurt.

Otto says something, pulling himself up halfway. He stares out at the ocean languidly. I'm looking at him, but I don't really see him. I see his flesh, burnt skin pulled taut over his frame. I can see every muscle, his clear anxiety. He catches me staring at him, flusters and snaps at me to stop looking at him. I tell him I'm not. I tell him he's not really there. He says something, but all I hear is the pain it inflicts. He gets up and walks away. I bother him with my peculiarities. I know better than to follow. He doesn't want me there. I bury my fingers in the sand, a thousand tiny diamonds. You would have understood.

I saw Layla the other day at the Starbucks, foam green and white cup clutched between her fingers. She was talking casually with the man behind the counter. I stopped to watch her. She touched the man's chin, made a comment. He laughed. She giggled, brushed the strands of auburn behind her cheek and smiled the way she'd always done for you. I'd asked you once what you saw in her. You'd only frowned, never answered, told me it was none of my business.

Sometimes I forget you're gone. I wander into your room, touch your things. I lay in your bed and stare at the ceiling. I wait for you to come and yell at me. When the minutes stretch on to hours, I remember that you've left. I pull the covers over my shoulders, wrap them about my body. Your smell still lingers in the cloth. You have a picture of us standing uncomfortably side by side taped to your mirror. Your face is scribbled out. The black strokes dig deep into the paper, engraving themselves into your smile. I touch the picture, run my fingers over the marks. I can feel the anger as if it's my own.

When you'd done it, I'd asked you after you put the pen down why. You had told me because the boy in that picture didn't belong there. That boy in the picture didn't exist. You had a way of talking that made everything you said seem real and everything else false. Because suddenly I saw it. That boy didn't exist, he was never there. You held my eyes for a long time with your own, sending me messages with your mind. You taped the picture up. I remember you were trembling. I'd seen something in your eyes that day. Something I'd wanted to forget.

I'd told you to take the picture down. Why, you'd asked. I couldn't tell you then that it scared me. I couldn't tell you how much I could feel your pain, how much I didn't want to know about you. When I hadn't answered, you had touched your chin to my shoulder, said, _I'm sorry. Please forgive me. But leave me…if you could just…leave me._

I lean back alone on the beach. The sun spills over the horizon, splinters out over the ocean. Some of the surfers catch a small wave that falls into itself too soon.

I'll never forgive you.


	6. Chapter 6

VI.

Youth is depravity.

Oppression.

Youth is the meager expression of rebellion against a war that ended long ago. At least, that's what you'd always told me.

I had watched from the bathroom doorframe as you carefully shaved your head. I had watched as the brown strands fell purposelessly to the ground. Does it cease being hair when it's no longer on a head, I had wondered. It limped, dampened. It was no longer livid, you cut its life force and it lingered limply in the air, flitting downward to its ultimate demise. And I had watched until there was but one strip left down the middle. I could see the veins beneath the milk flesh, deep blue rivers.

When you'd finished, you'd turned expectantly at me. As answer, I'd stuck my tongue out at you. You threatened to rip it from my throat if I did it again.

You pulled a wool hat over your head and said you were going out. I asked if I could come but you told me _no _sharply. You smirked, told me you were meeting Layla. I tried to hide my frown but you caught it and made no comment, placing your hand like a soft breeze against my cheek as you passed by.

I watched you clamor downstairs, heard mom yell at you. She wanted to know what you'd done to your hair. You told her you'd put it in the trash. I could feel her hand against your cheek as though it had struck my own. She yelled at you, Spanish words I didn't know. You left before she finished.

I crept downstairs after you had gone, snatched up my skateboard, and snuck out. I walked away from our house, clutching to me the light from the streetlamps as I passed. The night was a curtain over the sky, you were blanketed in its lies. I wanted to find you. I wanted you to find me. I stumbled about, slid my board against the pavement, riding it carelessly.

I rode it over the Pier, across the boardwalk, listening to the vibration in my jaw. Skateboarding was banned from the boardwalk, but I didn't care that night. No one was there to witness my crime. I almost wished someone was. It seemed a bravado thing to do. Something Otto would do. I wished I could share it with someone.

I wondered where you went with Layla. There was a patch of glinting sand on the boardwalk, it caught in my tires. I skidded to the ground, my arms sprawled beneath me, my cheek, my chin plastered to the heavy wood below my shaking body.

You never talked to me about her. If I brought her up, you changed the subject, or pushed me away. I wanted to know where your fingers lingered on her flesh. I wanted to know how she quavered when your lips touched her own. I wanted to know what you whispered into her ear, your breath hot against her neck. I wondered how she would react to your bare skull, wondered if she would stick her tongue out at you, wondered if you would threaten her.

I rolled onto my back, heard my skateboard crash into a cluster of tin trashcans not far away. The moon leered down at me, half a sneer. The milk of the moonlight spilled over the Pier, the beach, over me. I closed my eyes, pictured you drenched in the same pure white.

Wherever you were, you were here. The moon attested to that.

Mom yelled at me when I returned home.


End file.
